


Close to the Edge

by filmFreak1



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Depression, Episode 5: Polarized Spoilers, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Max and Dana friendship, Max and Kate friendship, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sacrifice Chloe Ending, Sad Ending, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2018-12-10 21:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11700438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filmFreak1/pseuds/filmFreak1
Summary: Max struggles in the wake of Chloe's death before eventually deciding she wants to end her life.  Then someone reaches out to her.





	1. Attempt

The blue butterfly may have lifted Max's spirits a little when it had landed on the coffin, but it did not last.

It wasn't just her best friend's final death that she had to cope with; it was  _everything_  that had happened during that fateful week. Being forced to witness all of Chloe's  _previous_  deaths. Watching Kate jump to her death, and then being forced to watch again when she failed to talk her out of it. Seeing Chloe in the wheelchair in a different reality (Max still sometimes wondered whether timelines were erased or merely left behind when she jumped through photographs). Discovering Rachel's body in a gruesomely advanced state of decay. Being tortured and nearly executed by Jefferson. Failing to prevent Nathan and Victoria's deaths—the two of them may have done terrible things, especially Nathan, but it did not mean they had deserved to die. The apocalyptic storm. And last but not least, having it all be entirely for nothing; as it turned out, the entire situation had resolved itself when Max had gone back and prevented herself from interfering. She had at least undone Kate, Nathan, and Victoria's deaths, and saved the people of Arcadia Bay, but this wasn't of much comfort when she was responsible—indirectly or otherwise—for nearly all of it in the first place. And, of course, Chloe was still dead.

 _I miss her so much_ , Max often found herself thinking.  _I loved her and I killed her._ These words often repeated themselves over and over in her mind, like a mantra.

Max initially seemed to be getting better for a time following Chloe's funeral. She was rarely seen between classes without Warren next to her. She and Kate often hung out in the dorm, still doing weekly tea sessions, and Dana often stopped by her room to check up on her. Max also went by the diner a few times to say hello to Joyce, and even said hello to David if she happened to pass him in the hallway at Blackwell. Victoria also acted friendly and comforting toward her, even once bringing her cookies she had baked, though it was probably out of guilt that one of her best friends had killed one of Max's.

During this time, Jefferson was replaced by a retired professor named Rustin, a short, thin, African-American man in his seventies with close-cropped white hair and black, thick-framed glasses who walked with a stoop. Dr. Rustin was an eccentric with an odd, old-fashioned sense of humor, but he was extremely knowledgeable and enthusiastic about his subject, and very well liked by his students. Even David, known for often coming in conflict with the faculty and staff of the school for the pettiest of reasons, was seen on at least one occasion sharing a laugh with the elderly professor. Max found Dr. Rustin's photography class the high point of her weekdays; this was a relief to her, considering how much Jefferson had poisoned the entire subject of photography for her. She started taking photographs again after not having done so for weeks.

Then Max stopped getting better. She slowly become more and more withdrawn. She started spending more weekends in the dorm browsing Facebook and watching videos on her laptop and phone in her room. She stopped going to the diner. She still occasionally hung out with Warren, but far less so now that he and Brooke were together. The weekly tea sessions with Kate were now by far the best part of her week. Victoria went from acting friendly to ignoring Max altogether; before the events of the fateful week, Max would have wished more than anything for Victoria to ignore her, but now it made her feel worse. It meant that Victoria no longer viewed Max as a threat or as a competitor.

Her depression continued to grow, to the point that she often skipped several meals a week, and ate little during others. She lost weight, starting to take on a rather gaunt appearance, particularly in her eyes and cheeks. She started wearing a belt after Kate discreetly informed her that her jeans had started sagging. Warren at one point had expressed concern regarding her weight loss, probably wondering if she had anorexia. She had looked him in the eyes and replied (more forcefully than she intended) that she was fine; he never brought it up again. She started taking photographs less and less often.

She still went to class and did the amount of work necessary to get by, though now it was mainly to hide just how much she was truly suffering; she did not want to be viewed as helpless or broken. She still smiled and said hello when she passed someone she knew in the halls, even cracking a joke every once in a while. It masked the fact that she felt dead inside, like she was no longer a person.

Finally, she decided she had had enough.

* * *

It was late January now, and the weather had gotten much colder. The latest snowfall was clearing from the ground around Arcadia Bay, but it was still cold enough that Max had to wear her gloves and heaviest coat as she now walked up that trail she had walked up so many times as a child. The lighthouse was now in full view.

She had started debating various methods earlier that month as to how she was going to end it. At first she had planned to acquire a gun and end it in the junkyard (she would first place a call to 911 to send the authorities out that way to collect her body); she did not want to cause a scare by firing the gun in her dorm room, or cause further trauma to her friends when they had to see the walls of her room decorated with bits of blood, bone, and brain.

She now reached the top of the trail and approached the bench; the same bench she and Chloe had sat on many times as children and the same bench Chloe had been sitting on when Max first told her about her powers.

Earlier that week, Max had gone so far as to pay a visit to the sporting goods store to take a look at their inventory in the hunting section. She had been forced to abandon her initial plan after doing some research online; while she was legally allowed to purchase a shotgun or rifle (she would not be able to buy a handgun from a licensed dealer for nearly another three years), the address to put on the background check form was going to be an obstacle, as her parents' address was in Washington (interstate sales were more complicated when it came to firearms) and her dorm room was on school property. She had briefly considered buying from a another person instead (the law would eventually be changed in 2015, but currently the state of Oregon did not require background checks for private sales) but decided she didn't want the potential seller to be burdened with guilt when they read in the news what the gun had been used for. She had opted for a much simpler plan instead.

Max now sat on the bench, looking out over the cliff at the waves. The early morning air was stinging on her face, but she didn't mind. In a short while, she would no longer feel anything. But for now she just sat and enjoyed the view. She briefly ran her fingers lightly over her lips, recalling with both both fondness and sadness the final, beautiful, and tragic kiss she and Chloe had shared on this very cliff during the horrific storm.

After sitting there for what seemed to be forever, she finally stood and approached the cliff, peering over. She decided she would need to back up and getting a running start before jumping; she didn't want to risk the rocks on the side of the cliff breaking her fall and making her death more drawn out and painful than it might already be. She could only hope that between the impact, drowning, and hypothermia, one of those would kill her pretty quickly.

She had decided not to call 911, as she didn't want there to be any chance of her being prevented from dying in case it took longer than planned. Instead, she had left a note in her dorm room. The note included an explanation of what she was going to do, and how and where she planned to do it, in order to give the authorities an idea of where to search for her body. The rest mostly consisted of apologies and goodbyes directed toward her parents and her friends, especially Warren and Kate.

In the last line of the note, she had written, "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you, Chloe." Then she had signed the note, folded it, and tucked it under her laptop. Hopefully, it wouldn't be discovered for at least a couple days, after someone had taken notice of her disappearance.

Backing away from the cliff, she removed her jacket and placed it on the bench, revealing her "John Doe" tee shirt (with the silhouette of the deer in place of the word "Doe"). Then, backing up further, she placed one leg further back than the other and lowered herself into a crouching position, preparing to sprint toward the edge of the cliff.

Max considered herself to be an agnostic, but did not let this prevent her from whispering a brief prayer for a quick death and, if the afterlife existed, that she and Chloe would be reunited in it, regardless of wherever they ended up.  _I would rather spend eternity in hell with her than in heaven without_ , she thought.

Then she began counting with the intention of sprinting straight toward the edge on three, no hesitation whatsoever.

"One." She adjusted her body in anticipation. "Two."

"Hey, Max!"

Max lurched forward slightly in startlement at the interruption, nearly falling down. Standing up, she faced the person who had greeted her.

It was Dana Ward; she was wearing a red knit cap, a light blue softshell jacket, black leggings, and a new pair of athletic shoes.

"Uh...Dana, uh, hi!" said Max, stumbling over her words. "What are you up to this morning?"

The cheerleader smiled. "Just thought I'd do my morning jog up here. I sometimes like to come here to get away from school for a while; helps me collect my thoughts, you know?" She looked at Max, then at her jacket laying on the bench, then back at Max. "Whatcha doing up here?"

Max thought for a moment, trying to find the right words. "I...enjoy the view up here. I used to come up here with my friend Chloe when I lived in Arcadia Bay before. I, um, got hot in that jacket and took it off just for a minute." Walking over, she picked up the jacket off the bench and put it back on. "I should probably get going."

Dana glanced at the edge of the cliff then back at Max again, a look of concern now appearing on her face.

"Are you okay, Max?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Did you take the bus to get here?"

Max nodded.

"I took my car," said Dana. "Let me give you a ride."

"It's okay, I don't want to interrupt your exercise," replied Max.

"Don't be silly, I was about done anyway," said Dana. "You know, there's this donut place I like to go sometimes; it's usually pretty empty this early in the day. Want to grab breakfast with me? My treat."

Max hesitated a moment before nodding. "Sure."

* * *

Dana was not wrong; when they entered, there was only one other customer there, and he left quickly, as he had placed a "to go" order. The owner-operator, a middle-aged woman of Cambodian descent called Ms. Khoeun, greeted Dana warmly by name. After a couple minutes of looking at the menu, they each ordered coffee and a donut (lemon filled for Max, blueberry cake for Dana), plus a sausage cheese jalapeno kolache they would split. They sat at a table in the corner furthest from the door and counter.

"Okay, I'm not gonna lie, that was the best breakfast I've had in a long time," said Max after they had finished eating. They were now slowly sipping the remainder of their coffees.

"Figured you'd like that," said Dana, smiling.

"I've been meaning to to ask, Dana...how are you and Trevor these days?"

"Trevor and I...are no longer together."

Max's mouth opened slightly. "What? Oh, god, I'm sorry, I didn't know. I've been out of the loop lately, I guess."

Dana waved her off. "It was just a few days ago. It was my choice. He's a good guy, and we're still friends, but we realized that we had different goals in the relationship."

Max nodded. "I see. Are you alright?"

"Yeah." Then Dana's smile faded. "Listen, Max, I want to talk to you...I've noticed you've been acting differently the last few weeks."

Max stared down at the table in silence.

Dana continued. "You've lost a lot of weight, you don't seem to come out of your room as often, you're very quiet nowadays. Hell, I can't remember the last time I saw you carrying your camera."

Max continued to stare down, pursing her lips.

"I'm not going to ask what you were really doing out there on that cliff, Max, but I'm not going to lie...I didn't like what I saw."

The cheerleader now leaned in closer to Max, speaking quietly and calmly. "I'm going to ask you the same question I asked you earlier, and I want you to look me in the eye and answer me truthfully: Are you okay, Max? Like, really okay?"

Max slowly looked up at Dana. The cheerleader was surprised to see the photographer's eyes brimming with tears.

Max's voice was almost a whisper. "No...I'm not...oh, god, Dana, I need help." Then she started sobbing. Dana reached out and embraced Max, allowing her to cry into Dana's chest.

"I'm sorry," Max sobbed. "I'm so sorry." Across the room of the diner, Ms. Khoeun had been about ready to bring a refill of coffee out to the two girls, but after a glance at what was going on, decided to head to the storage room in the back for a bit.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," replied Dana as the two of them rocked back and forth.

A few minutes later, Max finally sat up again, wiping her face with a napkin.

"Listen, Max," said Dana. "I just want you to know that I'm here for you. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I'll be glad to listen if you do. I can help you find a therapist if you think they would be better qualified to help. But don't hesitate to talk to me if you need anything, okay?"

Max nodded, sniffling. Looking down, she saw that the front of Dana's shirt was wet where her face was been.

"Oh, gross, I got tears and snot all over your shirt! I am so sorry, Dana."

Dana looked down at her chest then back up at Max, smiling. "Don't worry about it. I had to babysit my baby brother quite a bit when I was younger; this is nothing compared to what he was capable of doing!"

It was brief, but for the first time in days, Max laughed.


	2. Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her suicide attempt, Max seeks help.

The door was standing open, but Max knocked anyway. "Kate?"

Kate Marsh turned away from her desk to look at Max and smiled. "Hey, Max."

Max entered the room and closed the door behind her. "I need to ask you something. And this needs to stay between us."

Kate's smile faded into concern. "Okay."

"I'm sorry to bring this up, but remember a while back when you told me you were seeing a therapist after...you know, after what happened with the Vortex Club party and Jefferson?"

Kate nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Were they...good?"

Kate nodded more emphatically this time. "I'm still seeing her."

Max took a breath. "Would it be okay if I...if I gave her a call? For me."

"Of course." If Kate was surprised at the request, she did not show it. Opening a drawer, she pulled out a business card and handed it to Max.

Max put the card in her back pocket. "Thank you." She turned to leave.

"Hey, Max?"

Max stopped and looked back.

"If you need to talk...or even just to hang out...I'm here for you," said Kate. "Just let me know."

Max gave one brief nod. "I will."

* * *

Back in her room, she let out a sigh. Step One was complete; now for Step Two.

Pulling out her smart phone, Max went to her contacts list and selected the one labeled "Dad".

A short while later, the deep voice of Ryan Caulfield answered. "Max?"

"Hey, Dad. I know you're at work; do you have a moment?"

"I was just about to head out to lunch. Is everything okay, honey?"

"I can call back later..."

"No, it's alright, I can talk for a minute."

"Okay...I needed to ask you something...I may need some money."

A sigh came from the other end of the line. "Jesus, Maxine, we just sent you more money for film. You promised to take less pictures. When are you going to finally make the switch to digital?"

"It's not that...it's...for medical reasons."

"Medical? What's wrong? Are you sick, honey?"

"...In a way. I was wanting to ask you about our health insurance coverage. I'm wanting to make an appointment."

"Maxine, could you please tell me what's wrong? Wait, are you pregnant?"

"What? No! No, I'd...rather not talk about it. I don't think it's anything that will require a hospital stay"–Max wasn't entirely certain this was true; she hoped that the therapist wouldn't decide to immediately put her in a straitjacket—"but trust me when I say I need it."

"You're on the same insurance policy as your mom and I," replied Ryan. "And you can stay there until you turn 26 if you like. But it could cost us quite a bit, especially since I'm sure you haven't come close to meeting the deductible for the year. But I trust you enough to know you wouldn't do it if you didn't have a good reason, so I won't ask. Is there anything else you needed to know?"

Max swallowed. "Dad...does my policy cover mental health services? Like psychologists and such?"

A longer moment of silence followed. Then Ryan asked, "Is it about what happened to Chloe?"

"That, and other things. It's just been so difficult, I don't know what—"

Ryan interrupted her. "Make the appointment, Max. Please. We'll make sure you're covered."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, dad, thank you so much!"

"No problem. By the way, Max...you know you can come home anytime you like, don't you?"

Max smiled. "Yeah. But I think I'd like to stay just a little longer."

* * *

"Maxine Caulfield?"

Max put her phone back in her pocket and stood up. Before her, she saw a thin woman wearing black-framed glasses and a navy blue pantsuit. She wore her blond hair in a braid; Max guessed that the woman was in her mid to late thirties. She recognized her immediately from her picture on the clinic's website. The site's short bio of her had indicated that she had a husband and three children, liked running, yoga, and camping, and had previously worked in a hospital and a prison before opening her own practice.

The therapist smiled and shook Max's hand. "I'm Hannah Ryan. Right this way, please, Ms. Caulfield."

Walking past the desk where the receptionist sat, Max followed the therapist into a small room with a sofa and a recliner chair. A coffee table with Kleenex resting on it sat between the two seats; the therapist sat in the chair and indicated the sofa to Max. "Make yourself at home."

Max had been able to get an appointment the week after calling her father. As it turned out, the clinic was located a short bus ride away from the school; Max wondered if Blackwell students made up a large portion of its clientele.

The therapist picked up a notebook from a small table next to the recliner, opened it, and took a pen out of the breast pocket of her suit jacket. "I'd like to ask you some initial questions, Ms. Caulfield...get to know you and your situation. Is that okay?"

Max nodded slowly.

"I see that you're eighteen. Are you a student at the academy nearby?"

"Yes. A senior."

"What's your focus there?"

Max hesitated for a moment. "Photography."

"Are you from this area or did you come here for Blackwell?"

"Both. I lived here until I was thirteen, then came back to attend Blackwell this year."

"You live on campus?"

Max nodded.

"And your family?"

"My parents are still in Seattle."

"Brothers or sisters?"

"I'm an only child."

The therapist wrote in her notebook then looked up. "So what brings you here today, Ms. Caulfield?"

Max spoke slowly. "I'm not sure where to start...I'm sorry, is it Mrs. Ryan or Dr. Ryan?"

"It's doctor." The therapist smiled. "But you can call me Hannah if you let me call you Maxine."

"Max. Never Maxine."

"Max it is. And to answer your first question, if you're not sure, start with what's been going on in your life recently. What led you to make the appointment?"

Max still wasn't sure what to make of Dr. Hannah Ryan. She decided to start off with what she had been going through lately: the weight loss, the loss of interest in photography, socializing less, and so on. She did not tell her about the recent suicide attempt. She stared mostly at the floor while she was speaking, only occasionally looking at Hannah.

"...And then my friend Dana noticed how down I was. She took me out to breakfast and asked me if I was okay. I told her I wasn't. She made me realize that I needed to get help. I got your number from another student that's a client of yours...I believe you know Kate Marsh?" She looked up at Hannah expectantly.

The therapist stared back at Max, her face betraying no response.

Max glanced down with slight embarrassment. "Right. Doctor-patient confidentiality. Sorry. Anyway, that's when I called the office and made the appointment."

"I see," replied Dr. Ryan, writing briefly in her notebook. "How long did you say this had been going on?"

"Um, I guess a couple months, give or take?" replied Max. "I had been getting better before then."

The therapist made another short note. "What do you mean by that?"

"Mean by what?"

"You said you were getting better before then...getting better from...?"

A brief silence followed before Max replied. "My best friend Chloe died in October. She...was murdered at Blackwell. You probably read about it in the local news."

Hannah looked up at her with slightly widened eyes. "The Price woman?"

Max nodded. "We were best friends growing up. Hung out together all the time, pretended we were pirates, wrote comics and stories together. Went to each others' houses on evenings and weekends. Then one day, William—that's her dad—died in a car crash...I was with her at her house when we got the news; William had left to pick up Joyce from the grocery store, and he never came home."

"How did that affect your friendship with her?" asked Hannah.

Max swallowed and looked to one side. "We still hung out for a while, maybe more than ever—she needed me—but it was different. She seemed happy sometimes, but you could tell she had changed. My parents and I moved to Seattle not long afterward. I came back to attend Blackwell for my senior year."

"And what happened with your friendship after moving to Seattle?"

Max's voice was starting to shake. "She reached out to me by text many times. I replied once or twice then stopped. I didn't mean to ignore her, I just got so busy, caught up in the Seattle life...that's what I've tried to tell myself anyway. She eventually stopped texting altogether. She deserved a better friend. She found one. Rachel Amber...she's dead now too. You probably also read about that in the news."

More writing. "Did you ever get to see Chloe again after you came back to Arcadia Bay? Before she passed away."

A lengthy silence followed as Max debated internally whether and how to answer the question. She had already told Hannah more than she had intended for the first session. She wasn't sure why, but she found that for some reason she wanted to trust the therapist, though she had no intention at this time of telling about her suicide attempt and no intention ever of telling about her powers. Finally she made her decision.

"The last time I saw her...she was bleeding to death on the floor of the girls' bathroom."

Hannah looked up quickly from her notebook. "You...saw her?"

Max nodded, wiping at her nose and eyes with her sleeve. "If you read...the news...it mentioned that there was another student in the bathroom...hiding behind the stalls? One who the news didn't identify?"

Hannah set her notebook and pen on the table and put her hands in her lap, her mouth hanging slightly open. "That...was you?"

Max nodded, sniffling. Tears were starting to pour down her face. Reaching forward, Hannah pushed the box of Kleenex on the coffee table toward Max, who gratefully took one.

"I had gone in there after my photography class—the one taught by that bastard Mark Jefferson—to clean up a bit. Then I saw a blue butterfly flying around in there...I just had to get a shot of it. I took out my camera—I use a Polaroid—and took the picture. I was behind the bathroom stall when I heard the door open, and Nathan Prescott came in talking to himself. Chloe came in afterward, and they began arguing. Something about drugs and money. It...escalated."

Max was now on her third tissue, her voice now trembling more. "Nathan pulled out a gun and had her up against the wall, poking her in the stomach and threatening her. She pushed him away, and the gun went off. Movies never show you just how loud guns are...my ears were ringing for a while afterward."

Her voice trembled. "She...she never made a sound...just crumpled to the floor...like a rag doll...bleeding..." She looked at Hannah, who was now leaning forward in the recliner as she listened. "And the worst part of it is...it's all my fault!"

She collapsed into sobbing. Hannah did not say anything.

When Max recovered a few minutes later, she said, "I'm sorry. I didn't think it would be like this the first session. I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Max," replied Hannah. Max responded by wiping her face with yet another tissue.

"What makes you think it was your fault?" Hannah asked quietly.

"I could have saved her," replied Max. "I know how ridiculous that sounds, Hannah, but believe me, I could have stopped it." She looked down at the floor. "I didn't think I would be telling you this much. Is it okay if I don't want to talk anymore today?"

Hannah glanced up at the clock, noting there was only a few minutes left in the session, then back at Max. "Of course. We've covered a lot of ground today for a first session. Listen...you've clearly been through a lot these last several months, but I believe I can help you work through this. I'd like you to start coming here regularly. Are you up for that?"

"Is it a weekly thing?" asked Max.

"I strongly encourage my clients to start off weekly as a minimum," replied Hannah. "Then, as it continues, figure out from there how often they should keep coming, depending on how things go." She stood up from the recliner. "So...same time next week?"

Max thought for a moment. Then she nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I previously debated leaving the first chapter alone, as I thought it worked well as a one-shot, but then I decided I wanted to see where Max's struggle with mental illness took her. I know it's pretty much just dialogue, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. As always, I welcome feedback.

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with the idea of this fic after deciding I wanted to write a story dealing with the topic of depression, especially how often people who suffer from it the most may very well be the ones whom others would least suspect. I did a little bit of research on the subject, so I hope I portrayed it at least somewhat accurately.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


End file.
